


serenity

by sIngedwIngs



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Drabble, F/M, kastle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sIngedwIngs/pseuds/sIngedwIngs
Summary: A short series of Kastle drabbles/AUs because they are so beautiful and deserve happiness





	

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee shop au where Frank is somewhat intrigued with this new barista who has a smile that lights up the world.

Her clean, white name tag reads _'Karen Page'_ with an unprofessional yellow smiley face drawn in the corner.

  
She's new. Clearly.

Working the morning shift with a gleeful smile, waist length blonde hair drawn back in a tight bun, chatting to the customers about who's gardens are the best, the deliberation between mocha or latte and wherever that vigilante guy Daredevil will show up next. (Most predict the City Morgue. Frank also shares this rather popular opinion.) Still, that doesn't stop the gossip running wild whilst people are waiting for their energy burst. Funny how even the slightest bit of news can get people riled up like that. Or not funny, especially considering this places dangerous habit for raising vigilantes and throwing them into the wild areas of New York.

   
Personally, Frank does like the daily coffee rush. It gives him a sense of control amongst the chaos. He's always early enough to grab a table for himself and always queues behind the same four people who order the same coffees every day. He would probably make a pretty good barista if he wasn't so moody in the mornings. The change in early morning barista was unnerving, took a few days to adjust to. It didn't upset his daily routine, though, same table, same coffee, same Frank.  
Same old boring routine now has a twist, a twist that has doe eyes the colour of the sky and hair that reminds him of a fairytale he used to read to Lisa. His heart twists in his chest and he finds it hard to breathe for a few precious minutes. He doesn't need this sudden trip down memory lane, not now, not in public.  
Not ever.

  
He allows himself to drift through his thoughts aimlessly as the sun shines in through the window. Almost mocking him for his misery with the promise of a bright, happy day.  
The coffee shop in question is on a corner of a busy street in the centre of New York, it's friendly enough to invite people in but also hipster enough for teenagers to come in and order unnecessary amounts of caffeine to help them get through finals.

  
Frank notices the shadow almost immediately, call him paranoid but he knows if someone wants his attention. He's no vigilante, no Daredevil, but he just knows. When Frank looks, Karen is there. She's been here for a few days, enough time for him to start talking to her. Karen's eyes settle on his tentatively, like they'll fly away if he moves. So he doesn't, he just stares back at her with a surly stare that could curdle milk and frighten small children.  
It's just so goddamn typical of Frank to notice all the little things about her first. A stray curl of her hair had escaped its bun. Her eyes, so blue, so wide. Her habit of tapping her pen on her notepad frequently to some inimitable rhythm. He stares blankly at her for a moment before realising that she spoke.

  
"Sorry, what?" He cringes as his voice comes out gruff and aggressive, but doesn't break eye contact with her. He realises he must look pretty damn intimidating, baseball cap drawn over his bruised, unshaved face. If he didn't order a coffee every day, people would probably think him homeless. Which he isn't, he definitely isn't. If he were homeless, he'd be living on the street. Definitely not that somewhat comfortable flat in Hells Kitchen. But if he isn't homeless, then why doesn't that flat feel like home?

  
"Do you want a refill?" Karen repeats. Clearly irritated, too polite to make a show of it. But the continuous tapping of the pen grows faster as she gets more and more annoyed with his lack of response. Frank considers drawing this out a little longer but finds himself unable to do so, he wants to talk to her. Call it madness or whatever you want, Frank's starved for human company. He liked the old barista just fine, what's to say that he couldn't like this one too?

  
"You might as well draw up a big pot of black coffee, I ain't got nowhere else to go." Again, he's gruff, his voice is low, but at least it's a response. To his complete surprise, Karen smiles widely and nods her head silently before scurrying back behind the counter, presumably to deal with his request. Frank spends those five minutes people watching. A group of old ladies walk past and he offers to help them with their bags. They smile, accept the help and call him 'dearie' in that safe, familiar way. It's nice to be nice, not all the time, and it pays off to make other people happy, to make their day just that little bit brighter. Despite his being so dark and well, _alone._ He _likes_ it this way, though. It means that there's a lot less effort to put into looking nice when he goes out or meeting up with friends to go discuss pointless things about sports and cars or sports cars. Truth be told, he doesn't care about any of it. 'It' being stupid, pointless chatter about pointless, material things or 'it' being life in general.

By the time he gets back to his table, - he had been caught up in a conversation about who's marigolds had been the best, - he finds a steaming mug of black coffee on his table. He can feel Karen smiling at his back as he takes his seat. Coffee steaming, he raises it to his lips without thought, relishes the hot liquid burning his mouth and throat. Allows himself to enjoy the quick burst of energy this provides for him. Of course, he won't need this until much later this evening, when the vigilantes stalk the streets and roam the rooftops like some comic book antihero.

  
He hears Karens laugh as she talks to a customer as they tell some lame joke that she's probably heard a million times before. Frank turns his head in spite of himself to see a mother and child talking with Karen whilst they wait for their drinks. Karen probably laughed because of the kid, who was dressed in an Iron Man costume.  
Again, came the horrible twisting feeling in his chest. Too many reminders of his family in one day. That'll be rectified later tonight when people lock their doors in fear of the gangs. When he can put some scumbag in the City Morgue and mock Red whilst doing it. _Red_ and his damn code of honour. Red and his ridiculous, reverent way of doing things right. His moral code pissed Frank off to no end. Neither vigilante nor antihero could see past their differences, so they would never work together.

  
Standing up, Frank heads over to the counter to pay. The mother and child are sat at a corner table, the kid's talking her ear off; he shoots a sympathetic smile her way before he faces Karen, who looks rather surprised, he can tell. Because she stares at him unashamedly as he digs through his pockets for some cash. His sudden mood change caused by that kid reminds him of Frank Jr and it doesn't hurt as much now. Thinking about his kids, his wife. The life he used to have. So maybe that was what brought on the smile, a chance to move forward again. Maybe he wouldn't be happy, but he would be less restless than before.

"I've never seen you smile before." She says accusingly, to which he responds with a half shrug and a tired, lopsided grin as he puts cash in front of her. She's too taken in by his sudden change in attitude to notice the money until he taps the counter to draw her attention to it. As she gathers up the cash, he readies himself to leave, to reenter the relentlessly busy streets of New York city. He may not be the public face of the Punisher just yet, but he was well on his way to becoming just that.

  
Traipsing towards the door in a languid manner, he turns his head and calls over his shoulder: "That's 'cause you don't know me, ma'am."

  
The door closes with a shrill ring as Frank steps into the sunlight.

  
Today would be better than yesterday.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I couldn't resist this little cliche, just had to write it and get it done because I've been having some major character feels atm  
> send me requests for aus/prompts/drabbles about kastle for this series on my tumbler blog https://lin-manual.tumblr.com/


End file.
